


The Pick-Up

by Dannyblue



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, Humor, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dannyblue/pseuds/Dannyblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Cordy's dates meets Angel and Wesley. It isn't pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pick-Up

**Author's Note:**

> In season one of ATS, Cordy mentioned Angel giving her dates a hard time...

Trevor Reynolds pulled his car up to the curb. As he turned off the ignition, he studied the stylish apartment building.

Cordelia had made herself out to be a struggling actress, unable to afford the basic luxuries...like weekly, all-day treatments at her favorite spa.

But this place was nice. Two floors tall. A mix of Spanish Colonial and art deco, with just a little Gothic around the edges.

Of course, something had to be wrong with it. According to Cordelia, she barely made enough to pay her agent. How could she afford a sweet place like this? Unless the pipes were shot. Or a motorcycle gang had taken over the first floor.

"Or her apartment's haunted," Trevor laughed.

Trevor got out of his car and pocketed his keys. As he rounded the hood, he noticed the black convertible parked in front of him. It was a monster. A beautiful monster that screamed "classic"...and probably ate up gas even when it was standing still.

With an appreciative whistle, he ran his hand across the well-polished trunk. Gas-guzzler or not, he knew guys who'd kill to own this car. And, while he wasn't ready to go homicidal for a cool ride, he'd pay good money for half an hour behind the wheel.

Head filled with visions of speeding down a deserted road, wind whipping through his hair, Trevor sauntered up the walkway.

Trevor knocked on the door to Cordelia's apartment, his heart skipped with anticipation. He'd been looking forward to this date sense...well, sense before he got up the nerve to ask her out. He really liked Cordelia. She was beautiful. Smart. Funny. And the way her hair...

Suddenly, the door started to open.

Trevor donned his most charming--he hoped--smile...which promptly froze in place. Because standing in the doorway wasn't the stunning young woman he'd expected. It was a man.

A tall, dark, kind of pale, man.

"Can I help you?" the man asked.

Certain he'd gotten the address wrong, Trevor looked at the number on the door. The number matched the one on the slip of paper in his pocket.

"I-um..." Trevor cleared his throat. "Does Cordelia Chase live here?"

A slight frown darkened the man's already intense brow. Piercing black eyes studied Trevor up and down. "This is Cordy's place," he said.

As the man scrutinized him, Trevor became certain that there was something wrong with him. His blond hair was flat on one side. There was dirt on his face. Spinach in his teeth. Motor oil on his pants.

Why else would the guy be staring like that? Like he was looking at something slightly distasteful?

Discomfited, Trevor straightened his tie. "Could you tell Cordelia Trevor Reynolds is here?"

After a brief pause, the man opened his mouth to answer. But, before he could utter a word...

"Trevor?"

Cordelia Chase appeared, like a vision in a designer bathrobe, behind the man.

"Cordelia!" Trevor exclaimed, feeling oddly relieved to see her. He waited for the stranger to step back and wave him inside.

Didn't happen.

"I should've known you'd be right on time," she said in a playfully scolding voice. "A trait I usually like. But I'm running behind, as you can see." She held out her arms.

"Um, yeah." Trevor cast an uneasy glance at the man who stood between him and his date. The man who seemed to have no intention of moving.

"Well, come on in." Cordelia hurried forward. Pushing past her friend, she took Trevor's arm. "I'm almost ready. Just have to put on something pretty."

As she steered Trevor through the doorway, the man in black took a reluctant step back.

"Trevor, this is Angel, my boss. Angel, Trevor Reynolds."

Trevor studied the man with some surprise. This was her boss? The old-fogy who under-paid her, worked her like a horse, and didn't know the meaning of the word "fun"?

He looked more like an actor. Broody enough to take the throne from James Dean or Marlon Brando.

"And this is Wesley Wyndom-Pryce." Cordelia waved towards the sofa. "He works for Angel, too."

For the first time--because it was hard to notice anything but Angel's dark stare--Trevor saw the other man in the apartment. Putting a large, dusty book to one side, the guy stood. "Nice to meet you," he said in a crisp, British accent. Almost as an after-thought, he came forward to shake Trevor's hand.

"We had kind of a work emergency," Cordelia explained. "Which is why I'm a little late. And why my home is a lot more crowded than I expected it to be when you picked me up."

For some reason, she turned a narrow-eyed gaze on her boss.

"That's alright," Trevor said. "The concert doesn't start for another hour."

"We're going to dinner after," Cordelia explained. "And I plan to have a *great* time." She gave her co-workers a dazzling smile.

At least, Trevor was dazzled. His body temperature shot up several degrees. The blood rushed in his ears. His heart pounded. And a goofy grin spread across his face.

Suddenly, all kinds of...interesting danced through his head. Thoughts of lips, and skin, and anatomically impossible positions. Thoughts that made him glad no one in the room could read his mind.

Still grinning like an idiot, Trevor happened to glance at Cordelia's boss. Angel's intense stare had transformed into a dark, disapproving glower. And he seemed to have grown several inches taller. And several degrees broodier.

Grin fading, Trevor swallowed. There was no such thing as telepathy, right?

Eyes still drilling into Trevor, Angel said, "Are you sure you're feeling up to going out, Cordy? I mean, your headache..."

"I'm fine. And a night out on the town will make me feel even better."

Angel didn't seem reassured.

"Well, I guess I should finish getting ready," Cordelia said. Clasping her hands together, she glanced nervously between Angel and Wesley.

*She doesn't want to leave the room any more than I want her to go,* Trevor realized. Which made him even more uneasy than before.

"I won't be a minute," she said. Then, she all but ran into the bedroom.

Trevor felt like he'd just been tossed off the lifeboat...into shark-infested waters.

The three men stood in total silence for several long moments.

Wesley looked as uneasy as Trevor felt. Hands in his pants pockets, the Englishman shifted from foot-to-foot.

Angel, on the other hand, didn't seem the slightest bit uncomfortable. Arms folded imperiously, he looked like he could stand there forever.

Which was why, when Cordelia's boss finally spoke, Trevor jumped a little.

"So--Trevor, is it?"

It was a simple enough question. But, for some odd reason, Trevor felt like he'd just been insulted.

"What is it that you do?" Angel continued. "Exactly."

"Oh, w-well,"--Trevor cleared his throat--"I'm in advertising."

"Ah," Angel said, as if this was the key to Trevor's entire existence. "So you're, what, a casting director? For commercials and stuff like that? I bet you meet a lot of young actresses. A lot of young, *hopeful* actresses." He looked Trevor up and down. Again. "Mix business with pleasure a lot, do you, Trev?"

Unprepared for this verbal assault, Trevor felt blind-sided. A little disoriented. It took him a second to recover.

"Um, no. No. I don't have anything to do with that end of things. I'm more into market research. You know, finding out what appeals to whom. What will make people buy what you're selling."

"Really?" Wesley's smile actually seemed sincere. "We do a great deal of research in our line of work as well."

"Oh? Well. That's...interesting."

And silence descended once again.

Trevor glanced at the statue that was Angel. What was with this guy, anyway? Oh, Trevor had met people who didn't like him before. On first sight, even. But it seemed like Angel had decided to dislike Trevor before he even knocked on the door.

And with Angel being a tall, fit guy, with a stare that could pierce titanium, was it any wonder Trevor felt intimidated?

*This is ridiculous,* Trevor decided with a slight shake of his head. *So, the guy doesn't like me. Is that any reason to feel intimidated? I mean, what's the worst he could do?*

Taking a deep breath, Trevor stood up tall, and looked Angel straight in the eye. "So, what is it that *you* do?" he asked. "Exactly." Cordelia hadn't gone into much detail, and he couldn't imagine...

"I'm a private investigator," Angel answered.

Trevor swallowed. He knew as much about private eyes as anyone who'd grown up watching television. And he could imagine Angel questioning shady informants...and getting rough when he didn't get the right answers. Staring down mobsters without blinking an eye. Striking terror in the hearts of ruthless drug dealers. Handling a gun with ease.

He probably had a gun on him right now.

Trevor swallowed again.

A slight smile curved Angel's grimly set mouth. Almost like he'd heard Trevor swallow, and knew what it meant.

"How did you and Cordy meet?" Angel continued.

And Trevor realized he was about to be interrogated. By professionals.

He touched a finger to his suddenly-too-tight collar. "It's not all that interesting, really. I work out at the same gym Cordelia uses."

"Have you known each other long?" Wesley asked politely, with a pleasant smile to match.

Trevor got it. He watched Law & Order. This was classic good cop/bad cop.

"We started talking a few weeks ago," Trevor answered.

"Where are you from, Trevor?" Angel asked. "You don't sound like you're from LA."

Trevor frowned. What did a person who was actually *from* LA sound like? "I'm from Seattle."

"Seattle!" Wesley exclaimed. "A lovely city. How long have you been in LA?"

And so it went, on and on and on. As he answered their tag-team questions, he cast occasional, desperate glances at Cordelia's door. He felt like a contestant on a game show. Answer one question incorrectly, and he'd be gently--or maybe not--escorted out the door. And he had the unpleasant suspicion bruises would be involved.

"Do you have any family in town?" Angel asked. The *someone we can call to check up on you,* part didn't need to be spoken.

Before Trevor could answer, the bedroom door opened.

"I'm ready!" Cordelia exclaimed as she swept into the living room.

"Wow!" Trevor couldn't stop himself from saying. She wore a royal blue mini-dress, her hair swept up to reveal her slender neck. "You look great!"

"Fantastic," Wesley agreed with a fond smile.

Angel frowned. "Don't you think you need more..." he gestured with his hands. "...cover?" When Cordelia gave him an exasperated sigh, he rushed to add, "It's chilly out there."

Cordelia rolled her eyes at her boss. But she went to the closet and pulled out an overcoat.

Looking forward to his immanent departure with a great deal of relief, Trevor helped her put it on.

"Um, it was nice meeting you guys," he said. He even tried to sound like he meant it.

"Nice meeting you, too," Wesley said.

"Yeah," was Angel's response.

"'Bye, guys," Cordelia said. "Don't wait up." She gave them each a long, hard stare. "Which means I don't expect either one of you to be here when I get back."

Opening the door, Cordelia stepped outside. Trevor was about to follow when he heard a softly spoken, "Drive safe."

Trevor glanced back. Angel was smiling. And it wasn't a nice smile. It was a *don't be too late-we're not going anywhere-don't step out of line-nothing better happen to her-you don't want to see me angry* smile.

As he closed the door behind him, Trevor decided it was a beautiful night. They'd enjoy it more if he drove a few miles under the speed limit. And no running yellow lights. Safety first.

And, if Cordelia didn't enjoy the concert, they could always leave before it ended.

And, hey, who said they had to linger over dinner. If Cordelia didn't feel well, he should try to get her home early...

 

 

THE END


End file.
